In what feels like an instant – though likely not by my pup who was a 13-hour road warrior – I was transported this week from mountains to desert.
Someone asked me if I was happy to be back.
In May, my heart aches when our time nears to leave the desert. But then I arrive to the joy of mountains still waking up from winter.
Similarly, my heart is heavy in October, when I leave the fall forest.
But then I wake up to desert light and quail calls and my thrasher singing at sunset.
Before I left, I made one last hike on the trails.
end of season
bended bough
a mountain hymn
nestled needle and leaf
conveyed by litter of grace
a last look, the cradled path
bids adieu
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
October 2, 2022
That same day, the Nevermores prompt was to write a poem about a tree that was important to us.
I’m in the middle of a wonderful workshop at THE POET’S STUDIO with Georgia Heard and Rebecca Dotlich. The writing exercises we are working through provided a portal to play with a poem about a tree from my childhood.
A memory:
We moved from San Francisco to San Jose when I was 8. Tract housing was creeping across the south bay, eating up strawberry farms and cherry orchards. The first summer, our street dead-ended into one of those orchards. We spilled out of our house as fast as our summer chores allowed and disappeared for hours to play among the trees. And we carried brown bags to fill with sweet bings before coming home.
the purpose of a cherry tree
to whisper here they come to the rest of the orchard
to be still as a bike stand
to tighten its trunk like a boxer awaiting the gut punch
of PF Flyers,
the press of rubber soles on soft bark,
the hop and the heft
to oblige the blind trust of 8-year-old arms
to form a V for a right-sized seat to see the world
the way a cherry sees it
while still sending sugar to blooms
converting blossoms to bings that dance from stemmed ends
tempting summer hands
to wave branches on lazy-long days
that warn pilfering children here he comes
so you can run from the farmer’s wrath
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
October 6, 2022
Sarah Grace at Sarah Grace Tuttle
hosts our Poetry Friday round up!
Patricia Franz writes picture books and poetry. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
These are lovely Patricia! I love the phrase “the cradled path.” What a great descriptor, especially when paired with the photograph. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of the forest, saying goodbye to it with you.
I felt cradled by that path, Sarah — a good way to say goodbye. Thanks.
Patricia, your dog is a delightful animal that must be patient. I admit that I would not be a good passenger on a trip that takes 13 hours. Your last two lines of your forest hold a beautiful image: the cradled path. It must be fabulous being part of Georgia and Rebecca’s class. Your thoughts are full of nature and memories today. Enjoy the desert
Bonny was delightful — till about hour 10 ½!
And yes, I am savoring the poetry workshop! And Jone and Carmela are participating, too!
You’ve captured the adventure of childhood tree climbing and reminded me of an apple tree in our yard that I played on. I loved how you made the cherry tree a willing accomplice who provides a warning to the interlopers at the end.
Accomplice, for certain… Willing? Not so sure! Thanks, Janice.
I love this: “nestled needle and leaf”. I missed hearing your poem in class (we were in different groups).
Your tree poem reminds of my days reading in a tree.
I am curious about “the Nevermores”
The Nevermores is the name of the poetry prompt group that five of us formed this past year. We share and write to weekly prompts. Rose and Marcie are two of my partners; and it’s a delight! Perhaps we will be grouped this week, Jone!
Not just one but multi purposes of a cherry tree! I really love how it’s not exactly in the voice of the tree but the whole summer lifespan of the tree is told–“the press of rubber soles on soft bark,/ the hop and the heft”.
Thank you, Heidi!
Oh, I LOVE that photo of your dog. What a sweetie! And, the love of those trees! The blind trust of 8-year-old arms. My goodness, what wonderful imagery!
Isn’t it amazing what memories can bring forth in our poetry? Thanks, Linda.
I love everything about your post! That forest trail looks so inviting! We lived next door to my grandmother when I was growing up, and there were apple trees in her yard that I loved to climb. Your cherry tree poem brings back so many memories, although I never had to “run from the farmer’s wrath!” Thank you for sharing!
Thank you, Catherine. It was fun to recall that time in my life through poetry.
I love “litter of grace” and “cradled path.” Also love the progression from “here they come” to “here he comes” in the second one. Lovely.
Your dog is such a good pup! 🙂 What a trooper.
Thanks, Karen. I struggled to find that phrase “litter of grace.” I was searching for the word to describe being carefully carried and I didn’t know that “litter” is the word for a transport supported by two poles and couried on other’s shoulders.
What a shift you make, trading forest for desert and vice versa!
Your cherry tree poem will make a good mentor text for me! Love it!!
Gosh, thank you Mary Lee. And yes, it’s an twice-yearly migration!
Chock full of beautiful images, Patricia! What a wonderful poem.